


Ain't Nothing Better Worth Imagining

by plaidcardigan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Blowjobs, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, again not really, discussions about the correct use of chocolate sauce, kind of, more like stupid boys who need to learn how to flirt to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidcardigan/pseuds/plaidcardigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Liam, I swear to God if you don’t come back here and open the fucking door I’m going to fire you.” Louis hears Harry bellow from around the wall, his head stretched as far through the servery window as possible, knees pushing against the steel bench top, thighs and biceps straining and his broad shoulders pressed against the shelf frame.</p><p>It takes all of Louis’ willpower not to blatantly stare at his arse.</p><p>He doesn’t have that much willpower.</p><p>(Or the one where Niall and Liam are interfering twats, flirting like a normal person is overrated and Harry and Louis are made for each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Nothing Better Worth Imagining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lissome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissome/gifts).



> Okay so apologies for this being slightly late, I'm a slower writer then I thought and then life happened. 
> 
> Anyway, this is my pinch-hit for the exchange. Thank you for your lovely prompts! I know this probably isn't exactly what you had in mind for your coffee shop au but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> I would like to thank T for her encouragement and patiently pointing out that not everything I attempt is suitable on the first try.

When Louis first moved to London to pursue an acting career after finishing sixth form, he quickly realised that even with the support of Niall as a flatmate; rent and utilities weren’t going to pay for themselves. So, instead of falling head first into the lead role of a Christopher Nolan film with no previous experience outside of school drama performances like he dreamed, Louis found himself waiting tables and making coffee at a homely little café called _The Daily Grind_ ten minutes from his flat.

It wasn’t the most pleasant job by any means - the hours were long, the pay was quite shit and, being very much a tea man, Louis hated coffee with a passion. The fact that he frequently had the stuff thrown at his head by irate customers who couldn’t appreciate the acquired taste of a burnt roast, didn’t help matters in the slightest. But the owner, Evelyn; was a stocky old duck with a overactive maternal instinct and a penchant for “taking in stray waifs”, happily accommodating to Louis and his utter lack of hospitality experience. So he stayed.

It probably helped that she had a soft spot for Niall’s Irish charm and an appreciation for decent scotch; both of which Louis was more than happy to provide on a regular basis if it meant keeping his job.

Eventually, after more than two years of unsuccessful auditions, Louis gave away his dreams of becoming an actor, bought a cat and took on a position as a full-time wait staff and barista. He built up a decent rapport with the regular clientele once he figured out how to work the coffee machine correctly and _The Daily Grind_ , with its cracked wooden floorboards, patchwork paintjob and eclectic wall paraphernalia became his second home. 

So much so in fact, that when Evelyn mentioned one evening during the late shift that she getting on in her years and was looking to retire, Louis immediately offered to buy the business from her. Which was how he found himself taking out a loan with the bank and convincing Niall to go into business with him.

Thus, after a massive and eye-wateringly expensive renovation, more paperwork than he ever wanted to see again in his lifetime and too many nights spent stress crying into his cat’s fur, Louis was the proud owner of his very own cafe and has continued to be the past two and a half years. It was his child, his legacy and he was very protective of both it and his customers.

Which is why, when a brand new bakery opened up across the street, Louis thought it was a perfectly reasonable reaction to want to sabotage their business until they left. 

When he formed this ‘fool proof’ idea however, he failed to take three things into consideration.

One: That the owner, Harry, was really fucking attractive in a _Jesus fuck press me up against a wall_ kind of way.

Two: That Harry would not take kindly to Louis unplugging the bakery supply fridges and leave like a reasonable person, instead turning around and cancelling Louis’ fortnightly coffee bean order and reprogramming the café’s fire sprinkler system to go off at random intervals during the day. 

And three: That Niall and Harry’s fellow bakery staff member, Liam, were hopeless romantics and interfering twats who lived under the delusional impression that Harry and Louis were made for each other.

Which is how Louis finds himself pushing frantically on the blocked, inside door panel of the bakery kitchen at 9:00pm on a Friday evening, with Harry screaming curses at Niall and Liam through the small servery window.

  


* * *

  


“Liam, I swear to God if you don’t come back here and open the _fucking_ door I’m going to fire you.” Louis hears Harry bellow from around the wall, his head stretched as far through the servery window as possible, knees pushing against the steel bench top, thighs and biceps straining and his broad shoulders pressed against the shelf frame.

It takes all of Louis’ willpower not to blatantly stare at his arse.

He doesn’t have that much willpower.

Ripping his eyes away when Harry starts to slip his head back through the servery, Louis resumes his attempt at pushing open the door with little success. Bruised knuckles and a torn nail a testament to that. It’s the same industrial double design with the round windows and lack of handles that he has back at the coffee shop, the kind that swing outwards to clip onto the wall and don’t actually lock. They’re simple enough to get out of in theory, but become the equivalent of a solid steel wall when interfering wankers shove the _entire_ pastry display cabinet _and_ fridge in front of the damn things.

_Fucking Niall. Fucking Liam._

In a last ditch attempt Louis rams his shoulder into the centre of the doorframe. Once. Twice. Three times. It holds steady and all he’s succeeded in doing is giving himself a wicked bruise tomorrow so he stops, twisting and sliding down the door until he’s sitting on the floor, kicking off his shoes and tucking his knees to his chest.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Awkwardly lifting his hips without standing, Louis fishes it out, praying to God it’s Niall saying he’s coming back to let him out.

_Sorry mate but this has gone on long enough. Sort out your shit, I’m sick of you coming to work moping and covered in flour because you can’t flirt like a normal human being. Fuck it out and stop costing us a fortune in damages you cunt :)_

Louis throws his phone across the room, where it hits a bread shelf and firmly embeds itself into a cobbler loaf.

He tries to imagine it as Niall’s face. _Fucking twat._

Admittedly, the last time he was sloshed off his face, Louis drunkenly preached sonnets about Harry’s jawline into Niall’s shoulder, sobbing grossly into the material of his t-shirt because, “It’s so fucking sharp and his eyes are so fucking green Nialler. His has fucking dimples, _dimples._ I want to lick chocolate sauce out of them.”

It was not one of his finest moments.

Still Louis _trusted_ Niall to never use that against him. What’s said between lads whilst inebriated, stays between lads. Louis has never told a soul about the time Niall drunkenly admitted that he had an entire diary (“Journal.” “It’s a fucking diary Niall.”) filled with poetic verses about the cheekbones of one of their regular customers, Zayn. But no, what does he get? An evening spent locked up in a bakery kitchen with the object of his affections, who has made it blatantly clear of his dislike towards Louis. 

Granted, Louis did hook his iPod up to the bakery sound system to broadcast porn audio over the loudspeaker last time he was here, but _still._

Harry hates Louis, and Louis needs new friends.

Tucking his face into his knees, Louis wraps his arms around his shins and curls in on himself, trying to ignore the anxiety and mild hysteria clawing at his throat. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be home in his flat, sulking on his couch with his cat and watching shitty rom-coms because he hasn’t slept properly in three days and Harry snuck into the shop before opening and shook all the diet coke cans so they burst on the customers, who yelled at Louis angrily and demanded a refund. He’s tired, he’s hungry, he stinks of old coffee and he really needs a shower and possibly a hug.

“Louis, are you alright?”

Louis lifts his forehead from his knees and tilts his head to look up at Harry, who’s leaning against one of the supply fridges and staring at him, arms crossed and brow furrowed in concern; feet pigeon-toed endearingly. He’s gorgeous.

Irritation bubbles up in Louis chest.

“I’m just fine.” He spits, glaring up at Harry. “None of your concern.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow sardonically, but raises his hands in mock surrender, shrugging off the fridge with his shoulder. “Okay, no need to snap. It’s not my fault we’re stuck in here.”

“The fuck it isn’t. Your friend is the one who trapped us in here in the first place.” Louis retorts, knowing he’s being unreasonable but unable to stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. He sticks his foot out to kick at one of Harry’s legs as he passes.

Scowling, Harry dodges out of the way and heads towards the bread shelf, fishing Louis’ phone out of the cobbler loaf before throwing it at his crotch. Louis’ clenches his legs together just in time and it bounces off his shin and slides under the fridge. 

“ _Liam_ ,” Harry snaps, “ is just as responsible as Niall for this and you know it. So stop lashing out like a fucking child. In case you didn’t realise I’m _also_ stuck in here."

“Oh convenient story-“ Louis stomach chooses that moment to let out an obnoxious growl, interrupting his tirade. He glowers down at it. “Shut up.”

Harry blinks, face smoothing out in bewilderment. “Did you just talk to your stomach? 

Louis turns his glower on him, “Why not? It’s talking to me. It’s not my fault I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Harry frowns, brows crinkling together and nose scrunching up in affront, as if skipping lunch is a capital offence. He stares at Louis for a few seconds, before shaking his head and sighing, “Wait there.”

He turns, seeming to forget their argument completely and heads towards the employee cupboard at the back of the kitchen by the sink; reaching up and pulling a faded blue duffle bag from the top shelf. He shuffles back over to where Louis is sitting and plops down beside him against the door with a huff, long legs stretched out in front of himself and crossed at the ankles, bag resting in his lap.

Harry leans forward and rummages around in his bag for a moment before pulling out a packet of Walkers and a bottle of water, offering them to Louis. “Here, you shouldn’t go so long without eating, it’s not good for you and clearly turns you into an obnoxious twat.”

Just as quickly as Louis’ irritation appeared, it dissipates as he reaches for the proffered items. He doesn’t open them immediately though, instead watching Harry hunt around in his bag for his phone and sigh when it turns out to be dead, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Guilt replaces the irritation. Harry’s right; it’s not his fault and he’s stuck here too.

“Sorry… and thanks.” Louis mutters, glancing away as Harry’s hands still where he’s fiddling with his phone fruitlessly and he tilts his head in Louis’ direction. “I’m just tired and have a headache. I shouldn’t have snapped.” 

Harry snorts, dropping his phone and resuming his ferreting, “It’s fine, and you didn’t offend me or anything.” He fishes out a box of Panadol and opens it, offering one of the pill packets to Louis. “You’re like an angry kitten, not much bite you.”

“Excuse you,” Louis huffs, reaching out and snagging the packet. He pops a tablet out of the foil and swallows it down with a swig of water. “I bite plenty.”

There’s a brief period of silence before Harry makes an odd choking noise in the back of his throat, which makes Louis pause in the act of opening the crisps, running over in his mind what he’s just said. He feels his face flush.

“I didn’t mean-“ 

Louis’ cut off as a strangled honk of laughter slips out from between Harry’s lips before he slaps his hand over his mouth, cheeks dimpled and eyes sparkling with delight. It’s the most obnoxious sound Louis’ ever heard. He loves it.

In spite of his embarrassment, Louis can feel his lips twitch, which only seems to spur Harry on, laughter muffled behind his hand and shoulders shaking.

_Christ._

Louis lets out a snort of his own, Harry’s mirth infectious, and then another, and another, laughter soon tumbling out of his mouth in an unstoppable cascade. His ribs ache and tears are pricking at his the corner of his eyes, breaths caught in his throat as a chorus of Harry’s chuckles and his own higher-pitched reedy, gasps of laughter reverberate around the kitchen, bouncing off the walls and echoing through their ears like some bizarre, euphoric parody of a song. Harry has long since dropped his hand, cackling honks flowing freely, his head tilted back against the door in abandon.

_He’s the most beautiful thing Louis’ has ever seen._

It’s not even that what Louis said was all that funny, but the whole situation is catching up to the both of them and neither can bring themselves to stop. They’re trapped in a fucking kitchen for God knows how long, because their friends are twats and laughing seems like the only the thing to do other than cry. 

Harry’s head slips down the door as he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his chest to clutch at his sides. His right leg tangles over Louis’ own and Harry’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. Harry’s breath is warm and stuttered as he tries to stifle his snickers into the rough material of Louis’ work shirt and Louis can feel his heart expand in his chest in concurrence with his shaking ribs. 

_God he’s in love with this boy._

Louis sits there; hunched together with Harry in a shaking tangle of limbs against the cool metal of the door panel for what feels like an eternity, his world shrunk down to the foreign but welcomed feeling of Harry’s side pressed against his own, relaxed and unguarded. Up until ten minutes ago, Louis thought Harry hated him, but now he’s not so sure; although he might soon given that Louis really does need a shower and Harry’s nose is dangerously close to his armpit.

Eventually their laughter tickles to a stop, the occasional hiccup still bubbling up out of Louis’ throat. He wipes his eyes and turns to the side to watch Harry lift his head and press the water bottle to his flushed face in an attempt cool his cheeks. They’re still pushed up in a smile and, unthinking, Louis reaches over to poke at the dimple carving out his right one.

Harry stills and glances over, water bottle lowering from his face and eyebrows raised in bemused confusion. Mortified at his actions, Louis goes to snatch his hand away, but Harry catches his wrist in one of his own large hands, long fingers wrapping around his wrist completely in a way Louis tries really hard not to think about in any other situation lest he humiliate himself further. Harry tugs Louis’ hand lightly back towards his face, flattening it to his cheek and pressing into it slightly so Louis is cupping his face along one side.

Louis breath catches in his throat, his whole body as taut and tense as a tight wire; mind wiped blank of anything other than seeing Harry’s cheeks flush again with colour and a small smile paint his lips as he slides his hand to cover over Louis’ and reaches for the other one lying limp in his lap with his opposite hand.

Louis’ feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room and time itself has narrowed down to only this moment. Feels like nothing else in the world matters but the pounding of his heart in his chest and the slight tremor of his sweaty hands as Harry pulls his left hand up to cup the other side of his face and hold it there, depthless green eyes searching his face for something. 

Whatever is it that Harry’s looking for, he clearly finds, because in the next breath he’s leaning forward, bridging the narrow gap between their faces until there’s only a millimetre between them, warm breath fanning over Louis’ cheeks and mouth, his forehead pressed against Louis own. Harry tilts his head to the side and Louis closes his eyes in anticipation, feels heat bloom in his chest and a shiver run down deep into his bones, thinks _this is it._

And then Louis stomach growls.

Louis’s eyes fly open and Harry’s hands drop from his own, leaning back so that Louis’ hands fall from his cheeks to stare at Louis’ stomach in disbelief.

It growls again in acknowledgment.

Louis groans and buries his face in his hands, hating his body for ruining the mood, “Sorry.”

Harry snorts, pushing himself into a crouch and reaching over to flick Louis lightly on the forehead. Louis feels a bit like a humoured kid. “It’s fine, but we should probably find you something to eat.”

He stands up and walks over to the pantry, leaving Louis alone and wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

“You don’t have any alcohol in their do you?” Louis asks, lifting his face from his hands when Harry returns arms cradling a small mountain of ingredients. “Because I could really use a drink right now I think.”

Harry pauses as he goes to place the items on the stainless steel island, turning to face Louis. “No, sorry.”

Louis sighs, tilting his head back against the door in mimicry of Harry’s earlier position. “Oh well, long shot anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry shuffle his feet and bite his lip for a minute before picking up his pile of ingredients and walking back into the store cupboard. He returns a moment later with a large storage container labelled ‘Brownie Mix’ and sets it on the island, before walking over to Louis and grabbing the duffle bag by his feet, sticking his hand out for Louis to pull himself up with as he does.

Harry walks back to the island, tugging Louis along with him. He plops the duffel on the counter and drops Louis’ hand to begin rummaging through it. 

“Now I know this looks bad, but it wasn’t like I planned on spending the night here and I have the day off tomorrow.” Harry blurts nervously as he digs through his bag, making absolutely no sense to Louis. “Zayn dropped it off half an hour before I was supposed to leave, so please don’t think that I actually use this in any of the stuff here. I’m not a _criminal_ or anything like that, but you said you wanted alcohol and given we don’t have that…”

He trails off and pulls a nondescript coloured Tupperware container out of the bottom of the duffel and turns to face Louis, yanking off the lid and tilting it so Louis can see inside.

Oh. Louis blinks in surprise as he sees its contents, before a smirk pulls up the corners of his lips and he glances up at Harry.

“Pot brownies, really?”

Harry, gathering that Louis isn’t going to do anything drastic like yell or call the HSE, lets a smirk of his own flicker across his face, one which widens as Louis reaches over to open the brownie mix.

“Really.”

  


* * *

  


In retrospect, consuming space cakes on an empty stomach probably wasn’t the best idea. But Louis can’t bring himself to care much when he feels like he’s been flying for the past three hours.

Harry’s a genius.

“I can see in the fourth dimension.” Louis whispers in awe from his position on the floor, half resting under the industrial island so he can stare at the ceiling. Harry lets out an almighty snort in response, tilting his head so he can further burrow his face into Louis’ chest like a pillow. Louis can feel his ribs shaking in time with Harry’s giggle.

“Seriously, have you seen how beautiful your ceiling is?” Louis says again, completely earnest. Honestly how can Harry work in a place like this? Louis wouldn’t be able to get anything done if he had this kind of view all the time.

Harry raises his head and glances at the ceiling briefly before breaking out into laughter again and burying his face back into Louis’ shirt. “I guess so,” comes the muffled reply.

Louis can feel a nose in his armpit. It’s a strange feeling.

“You smell nice.” Harry comments, reaching awkwardly around the leg of the island to grab at Louis hand and place it in his hair. “Pet me.”

Harry has the softest hair Louis has ever felt.

He tangles his fingers amongst the curls and plays with the strands, letting his nails scratch lightly against Harry’s scalp and brush away the occasional knot with his fingertips. Harry lets out a purr like a content cat, pressing closer to Louis with a wiggle.

It’s nice.

They lie there on the floor in silence for what feels like forever, Louis petting Harry scalp idly while he stares blankly at the roof and contemplates the meaning of life in the cracks of the plaster. He listens to Harry’s intermittent pleased sighs when he manages to untangle a particularly stubborn knot and wishes he could stay here forever.

“I thought you hated me you know.” Harry remarks suddenly, causing Louis’ fingers to still in their strokes.

“What?”

“”Yeah.” Harry says, sitting up and only just managing to avoid braining himself on the corner of the metal bench as he does. He turns, tucking his knees into his chest and resting his chin on them, staring down to at Louis’ face unblinkingly, looking remarkably sober. Louis squirms awkwardly under his gaze, feeling a blush start to creep up the back of his neck.

“I don’t _hate_ you.” He denies, scrabbling into a sitting position so that he’s no longer lying under Harry and can think straight. Sort of. “I don’t.”

“Right.” Harry drawls; one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “The first time you met me, you unplugged all of the display fridges overnight and then impersonated a health inspector.”

“You were stealing all of my regulars!” Louis splutters in defence, “And you made my café into a wet t-shirt competition for the next week so don’t start shoving this all on me.”

“You put biological hazard tape in front of our door!”

“And you cancelled a month’s worth of coffee shipments!”

“You were acting like a fucking child!”

“Like you were any better!”

Harry runs a hand through his hair in frustration; standing up and turning to face away from Louis, shoulders tense. Louis’ scrambles to his feet and backs up until he’s pressed against the island as Harry spins around to face him again, arms crossed.

“You hooked up the speakers to play porn!” He spits, eye blazing. “We had fucking _kids_ in the shop, you’re lucky we weren’t charged with some kind of sexual harassment suit.”

And okay, Louis can admit he feels bad about that one. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles looking down at his feet. “It was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Harry sighs, running his hands over his face and letting the tension bleed out of his muscles. “No you shouldn’t have.” He looks up. “Just… what have I done to you to make you hate me so much?” He asks, sounding tired. “There’s another coffee shop down the street and I don’t see you doing this to them. So what did I do?”

Louis can feel the flush on the back of his neck creep up over his cheeks and down his shirt, panic building up in his chest. He doesn’t want to answer this; can’t Harry just leave it alone? Why can’t they go back to lying on the floor again?

“I don’t hate you.” Louis whispers, eyes pinned to his shoes, avoiding Harry’s expectant gaze.

Harry snorts derisively, “Sure, okay. Clearly you _do._ ”

“I _don’t._ ”

“What so you just do this to everyone then?” Harry questions, advancing towards Louis, causing him to press back harder against the island. “Are you just naturally a dick who likes to pick on people for no reason?”

“Can you just leave it alone?” Louis asks desperately, panic threatening to choke him the closer Harry gets.

“No I won’t leave it alone.” Harry snaps, pinning Louis up against the bench completely and leaning down into his space. “You’ve been an arse to me since day one. I’ve never had someone treat me the way you do and you say you don’t hate me, but clearly you’re a fucking liar. I just want to know what I di-“

“I was fucking flirting with you okay!” Louis shouts, cutting him off, panic having reached breaking point. 

He pushes Harry away in a desperate bid to put space between them, humiliation creeping over him as the words gush from his lips. “Is that what you want to hear? Huh? That I’m weird and awkward and can’t flirt like a normal human being when I have a crush on someone? That I spend nights crying over your stupid face and wishing that I can lick chocolate sauce out of your dimples and that making your life difficult is the only way I can interact with you because I’m emotionally stunted? Is that what you wanted to hear, Harry?”

Silence rings out deafeningly in the wake of Louis’ confession and a swirling mix of shame and utter mortification washes over him the longer it lingers. 

Harry looks stunned.

Louis swallows.

“The first time wasn’t me flirting.” He mumbles; figuring there’s nothing left to lose at this point. “I’d been complaining about how we’d been losing customers since your bakery opened and me mate, Nick, dared me to do something about it. So I did.”

“Then I actually met you and you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen." He continues, dropping his eyes to his feet. “And I realised I’d basically cocked up any chance I had with you. So I figured, even if you hated me, by making your life difficult I could still interact with you, you know? Pathetic, innit?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything. 

Louis wishes he could disappear.

_Fuck._

Humiliated tears sting the back of his eyelids and he squeezes them shut, frantically wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. 

_Are you fucking happy Niall? You were fucking wrong._

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but then a hand that’s not his own brushes the hair lightly out of Louis’ face and he startles. His eyes fly open and he whips his head up to stare at Harry, who’s looking down at Louis with an expression he thinks might be pity.

“Lou-“

“Don’t!” Louis snaps, flinching away and pushing against Harry’s chest again. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”

Harry smiles tightly, hand reaching out to wrap around Louis’ wrist, stilling his movements. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are. “ Louis yanks his arm back towards himself frantically, but the fingers around his wrist squeeze tighter. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not. I’m a big boy; I can han-“

“You know the first time I saw you I thought _you_ were the most attractive person I had ever seen.” Harry interrupts, slapping his other hand over Louis’ mouth when he goes to speak. “Shush for a second.”

Louis debates biting at his hand, wiggling fruitlessly in an attempt to escape; not listening.

“Will you stop it,” Harry growls, pressing forward and pinning Louis back against the bench with his hips. Louis tries really hard not to think about that any further. “Just _listen._ ”

“The first time I saw you the only thing that stopped me from asking you out then and there, was the fact that I thought hitting on the HSE officer writing me up a health code violation would seem unprofessional.” Harry’s lips twitch up in self-deprecating smile. “After I realised you weren’t actually one, I was too embarrassed at being fooled to think about it.”

Louis stills in his squirming, staring up as Harry in disbelief.

_What?_

“The only reason I retaliated,” Harry continues, a blush colouring his cheeks, “is because _I_ wanted another chance to talk to _you._ ”

He lets his hand drop from Louis’ mouth. “So don’t think you’re the only one who can’t flirt like a normal human being. I was doing the exact same thing.”

He loosens his grip of Louis’ wrist but doesn’t let go, taking a small step back to allow a sliver of space to form between them. Louis feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his diaphragm, struck dumb by Harry’s words. He can feel his mouth opening and closing, trying to form intelligible sounds that can’t seem to filter through his brain and out of his throat.

“I-I.”

Louis shakes his head trying to clear it.

“So you _don’t_ hate me?”

Harry snorts. “Louis, not even four hours ago I was going to _kiss_ you. I’ve had the most pathetic crush on you since the moment I met you. Liam hates me for it; tells me to stop being an idiot and ask you out all of the time.”

“But I was an arsehole to you.” Louis exclaims, trying to find his footing when the world feels like it’s just shifted on its axis. “How the fuck you can you like me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “For the same reason you like me I guess.”

He rubs his thumb in small circles over the back of Louis’ limp hand, eyes sparkling in amusement as he watches his face. “You’re still an utter wanker, don’t get me wrong. But I’m hardly an innocent party here; you still reek of diet coke.”

Right. Louis forgot about that. _Bastard._

Still.

“I’m sorry.” Louis apologises, flipping his hand over to squeeze at Harry’s fingers. “I was a twat and I let myself get carried away.”

“It’s okay.” Harry smiles, tugging Louis forward. “I’m sorry too. I was also a twat.”

Louis snorts.

“So now that we’ve both made complete twats out of ourselves,” Harry whispers, leaning forwards slowly; warm breath fanning over Louis’ face. “Can I kiss you? Or is your stomach going to protest again. Because I’ve been wanting to do it for months.”

Which, _oh._

Realistically Louis knows they still really need to talk; knows that things aren’t quite fixed yet, knows that they’re both still buzzed from the weed and their emotions are running high.

Right now he doesn’t care.

In answer, Louis surges forward, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and pushing up onto the balls of his feet to press their lips together. It’s awkward at first; he misjudges the mark a little, their noses bumping and their teeth clacking against each other’s painfully. But then Louis tilts his face to the side brings a hand up to cradle the back of Harry’s head and everything slips into place.

If Louis could think properly over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears, he’d be cursing his past self for not doing this sooner, for wasting months of time that could have been spent kissing Harry. Desire bubbles up at the base of his stomach and shivers over his bones, hairs standing on end as gooseflesh forms. Heat expands outwards from the centre of his chest like electricity.

It’s intoxicating.

Louis has kissed other people hundreds of times before, strangers in clubs and parties, fuckbuddies and steady boyfriends. Any variation, he knows. He knows the rush of endorphins like the back of his hand, knows his body’s instinctive reaction like a familiar friend. Louis’ old hat at this game, knows what to expect and how to respond.

Kissing someone has never felt like this before.

Harry’s lips are a contradiction, a feather-soft give of plush skin but firm and assertive as he takes control of the kiss, slanting Louis’ mouth apart so he can run the tip of his tongue over the seam of Louis’ teeth, coaxing them open with a gasp and licking inside, drawing Louis’ tongue back with his own to suck on it. Harry’s hand slips under the material of his shirt, pressing against the full expanse of Louis’ lower back, pulling him closer until there is not space left to breathe between them. It’s _scorching,_ simultaneously everything and so much more than Louis ever imagined, exactly the way he likes to be kissed but better.

He wants more.

Louis brings his other hand up to Harry’s hair and _yanks,_ fingers twisting tightly into sweaty curls as he falls back onto his heels forcing Harry so slouch over him slightly with a grunt. He bites down on Harry’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth causing Harry’s hips to snap forward, knocking Louis’ back into the countertop.

On the surface Harry smells likes strange mix of weed, sweat and icing sugar. Underneath though, the scent of something innately Harry clings to his skin; something potent and exhilarating that makes Louis’ head giddy. It’s a heady addictive rush that he wants to bury himself in and drown. 

Louis pulls back with a gasp when his lungs begin to scream too loudly to ignore. His lips ache with a pleasant tenderness; puffy and bruised, a glistening string of spit suspended between them in a way he should find disgusting but _really_ fucking doesn’t. Harry doesn’t slow his pace in the slightest; slipping his hands down Louis’ back to clutch roughly under his bum and hoist him onto the bench in a single move, lips licking and sucking a burning trail down Louis’ jawline until he reaches the join between neck and shoulder. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful Louis. _God._ ” Harry breathes reverently into Louis skin; voice like sex – deep and hoarse, his hands stroking lightly up and down Louis' biceps. Harry presses his mouth down against the soft flesh, murmuring more muffled words Louis can’t hear, letting his warm breath settle. Then he _bites._

“F-fuck.” Louis moans, head dropping back and hips arching upwards sharply as pleasure shoots down his spine straight to his cock. Harry’s left hand slides up underneath Louis’ shirt, fingernails scraping lightly at his ribs; caressing his rapidly flushing skin. 

“H-Har- _Ahh!_ ” Louis tries to speak before cutting off in a high-pitched whimper as Harry twists at a nipple roughly and sucks harder at Louis’ neck. “You _bastard._ ”

Harry lifts his teeth from Louis’ neck and smirks rakishly, licking lightly over the blooming bruise before grasping at Louis shoulders with his left hand and pushing him down flat against the countertop, pinning him there. He rucks Louis’ shirt up to his armpits and leans down to suck at his already abused nipple, his hips cradled between Louis spread thighs, the large bulge of his cock in his jeans pressed obscenely against Louis’ arse as he wraps his legs around Harry’s waist.

“You taste so fucking good,” Harry groans, punctuating each word with a kiss to Louis’ chest that makes his toes curl, arousal coiling tighter in the pit of his belly, his own aching cock pressed uncomfortably against the inseam of his jeans and Harry’s hip. It so hard Harry must be able to feel it. “Like caramel and coffee,” Harry continues, licking a stripe of skin along Louis’ collarbone. “It’s addictive.”

“That w-would – _oh_ – probably be the – _stop it that tickles_ – coke, idiot.” Louis stutters out, chest shuddering as he fights to control his breathing against the burning heat that blooms across his already fevered skin wherever Harry touches.

Harry snorts, ducking down and scraping his teeth against Louis’ other nipple and biting down in retaliation. He just manages to avoid cracking his forehead against Louis’ own as Louis jerks up violently onto his elbows, thighs clenching around Harry’s hips tightly as he throws his head back, fingernails digging deep crescent moons into his own palms.

Louis is pretty sure the sound that bursts from his lips isn’t human.

“Mmmm. You’re so sensitive,” Harry moans into Louis’ skin, tangled mess of sweaty curls dragging over Louis’s heaving chest as he slides down his torso, tilting his head to meet Louis’ gaze as he reaches the waistband of his jeans; pressing a soft kiss against the fine trail of hair there. Harry’s eyes sparkle with mischief as Louis pushes himself up into a sitting position, wiggling his eyebrows as he leans down to slide the zipper of his trousers open… with his teeth.

_Christ._

Louis barely has time to think that Harry clearly has an oral fixation before his jeans are being ripped down to his ankles and his bum is yanked to the edge of the bench, the image of Harry dropping to his knees and glancing up at Louis from underneath his eyelashes forever burned into his brain.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks, reaching out to squeeze at Louis’ bare thighs gently with his large hands. A faint blush darkens the tips of his ears and dusts over the reddened apples of his cheeks. “If you don’t want to do this just say no.”

 _Fucking hell._

If Louis weren’t already gone for the vision in front of him, he sure as hell would be now. Not a single man on this planet possesses enough will power to be able to resist the sight of Harry on his knees; cheeks stained a vivid red and sweat glistening across his forehead, his pupils blown wide and sex stupid, offering to suck their cock with swollen and kiss-bruised lips.

“Harold,” Louis huffs, reaching out with a shaky hand to push Harry’s sweaty hair out of his face. “If you think I’m about to turn down a blowjob from the person I’ve been pining over for months, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“Hey!” Harry mumbles, pouting out his bottom lip obscenely in mock offence, the corners twitching up just slightly; giving away his amusement.

“Does it look like I don’t want this?” Louis continues, gesturing to the angry, unflagging tent of his pants with his other hand. He lowers his voice into a murmur and tugs lightly at Harry’s hair, smiling down at him. “Trust me, there’s nothing I want more right now then your mouth on my dick.”

“Even licking chocolate sauce out of my dimples?” Harry teases, hesitancy fading. He smirks up at Louis and squeezing his thighs lightly once more, before leaning down breathe hotly over Louis’ leaking cock through his pants, voice a deep purr when he says, “I thought you dreamed about that.”

“Oh shut up.” Louis snorts before breaking off into a high-pitched keen as Harry takes the tip of his clothed dick into his hot, wet mouth; tongue flicking out teasingly to run lightly against the sensitive underside. Louis’ hips snap up before Harry pins them to the bench with his hand; suckling and mouthing at the head of his cock through the cotton, soaking the material through with spit and precome.

“Bossy.” Harry comments, pulling off so he can remove Louis’ briefs. He does so much slower than he did the jeans, kissing and licking lightly at each stretch of newly revealed skin, nuzzling into the short, fine hairs at the base of Louis’ cock. “I like bossy.”

_Dear god this man._

Harry inhales deeply; shoulders shivering as he places a gentle kiss to Louis’ hipbone before jerking his pants off completely, leaving him naked from the waist down on the cool metal bench top. He licks a stripe down his broad palm and wraps his long fingers around the base of Louis’ shaft, jerking up and twisting as Louis’ stomach muscles jump and his breath hitches.

“You okay? You look a little red.” Harry asks innocently; the barest hint of a smirk visible on his lips, smugness palatable. 

_Fucking tease._

“Can barely f–feel anything.” Louis stutters out, breathing ragged he as twitches through a stifled whimper when Harry thumbs at the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock and pulls back the foreskin to rub over the slit.

“Really?” Harry frowns in mock confusion; gazing up at Louis from underneath his eyelashes, biting his bottom lip lasciviously. “What if I do this?”

“Shit, ooh.” Louis head drops forward, a moan slipping between his clenched teeth and thighs clamping around Harry’s head as he takes Louis’ cock into his mouth properly for the first time; warm, wet and vice-tight lips wrapping around his shaft.

Harry hums in satisfied amusement; removing his other hand from Louis’ hip to run his fingernails along the crease of Louis’ groin, making him squirm. The vibration of his throat sends sparks of heat down Louis’ lower back, his insides twisting in pleasure as warmth and familiar pressure flood his belly to match his fevered skin.

“A-Aah!”

Harry begins to bob his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks Louis aching cock down until it hits the back of his mouth before pulling up again; lapping at the precome that blurts from the tip. The muscles in his back and shoulders shift underneath his thin shirt with each movement of his head in a way that makes Louis chest tighten and his mind fuzzy.

_Gorgeous._

Spit drips from Harry’s mouth and runs down Louis’ length and over his balls, the sensation making him shiver. Harry pulls off with a slick pop and ducks down to lap lightly at the glistening trail, tongue running over soft salty skin until he reaches Louis’ balls; licking at them teasingly.

“Can’t forget about these.” Harry purrs, voice bass deep and fucked out, hands slipping down between Louis’ inner thighs to spread them further apart.

He sucks one into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Louis _wails,_ eyes rolling back into his head and hips bucking up sharply. His right hand flies to Harry’s hair and yanks harshly, while his left slaps against the bench as his insides coil tighter, the heat in his belly climbing higher.

Harry lets out a pained whimper and bucks his own hips forward, reaching up to still Louis’ wrist when he moves to take his hands away. 

“Do it again,” Harry gasps pulling back to gaze up at Louis, eyes wide and wild; green completely eclipsed by blown out pupils. Louis complies shakily, entangling his trembling fingers in damp curls and _wrenching._

Harry groans, deep and guttural, dropping his face forward to rest on Louis thigh as he shudders, fingers tightening around Louis’ wrist and inner thigh almost to the point of hurting. “ _Yes._ ”

Of fucking course the hottest man Louis has ever seen has a goddamn pain kink. 

Louis files that away for future reference before returning to the problem at hand.

He needs to come. _Right now._

Louis tugs harshly again at Harry’s hair, lifting his head from his thigh; his cock throbbing.

“Mouth,” He pleads; voice high, reedy and frantic, pulling Harry’s head back towards his dick, his heart racing as his chest heaves, “I need your mouth. _Please._ ”

Harry complies, eyes glazed and unfocused before he blinks rapidly to clear them and leans down with a smirk. “I never took you for one to beg.”

_He’s not._

Louis only whines in response, lolling his head back on his shoulders and reaching up to tug desperately at a nipple with his free hand as Harry sinks back down his length with renewed fervour.

He bobs his head quickly, hand coming up to jerk what he can’t reach with his mouth in the same quick rhythm; teasing no longer the main objective. Louis hips snap up and his cock bumps against Harry’s throat, causing him to gag slightly and pull off with a cough.

“Careful, love.” Harry murmurs; pinching Louis’ thigh lightly and pressing his hip back down gently. “Just let me take care of you.”

Louis shivers; head swimming, unable to think as his brain turns to mush and his eyes flutter shut. If it were anyone else, Louis would probably punch them in the dick for saying that. He doesn’t need taking care of thank you very much.

It’s not anyone else though, it’s Harry and Louis can’t bring himself to protest. His mind is incapable of forming any coherent thought other than _fuck_ and _please_ and _yes, god yes_ as he feels Harry suck the head of his cock back into his mouth and slip his hand between Louis legs to run a finger up his perineum and caress his balls.

Louis whimpers, breath hitching as the familiar burning twist of his insides signifies his impending orgasm. He yanks roughly on Harry’s hair to tell him to let go, chest heaving and voice cracked as he gasps, “ _Harry,_ s-stop. I-I’m close.”

Instead of listening, Harry moans and laves his tongue in a wide circle over the head before hollowing his cheeks and relaxing his throat, sinking down until his nose presses against the downy hair at Louis’ belly. He presses his fingers hard against Louis’ balls and hums as he feels fragile skin give way and draw up under his fingers.

Louis’ legs spasm, thighs clamping tight around Harry’s head as the blood roars in his ears and the tight heated coil of pressure in his lower belly snaps; sending shockwaves of pleasure all the way down to his toes. He comes, hot and heavy, down the back of Harry’s throat with a desperate high-pitched keen; stars exploding behind his eyelids as he blacks out for a few frozen seconds.

_Jesus Christ._

When he’s capable of dragging his sex-heavy eyelids open again, it’s to the sight of the back of Harry’s head where it rests on his thigh. His is breath hot and wet against Louis’ skin, his forehead sweaty and hair a tangled mess. Louis can feel him rock; shoulder thrusting as he jerks himself off.

Which, _no._

Louis’ toes have gone numb and his legs resemble jelly. He feels like his brain has been sucked out of his dick; head spacey and blank as he slips clumsily from the countertop. His knees almost give way as he pushes Harry backwards and collapses down to grasp his cock with his hand.

Later when Louis is capable of coherent thought, he’ll take the time to appreciate how well endowed Harry is.

“Let me do it.” He slurs, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder; panting wetly into the material. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Harry laughs shakily, reaching up to grasp at the back of Louis neck as he twists his wrist. “Trust me, I’m not going to last very long.”

Louis would be insulted if he did.

True to his word, it only takes a handful of jerks and Louis digging his nail lightly into the slit before Harry comes all over his shirt and Louis’ hand, his hips stuttering up twice before settling back down; a long fucked out moan wrenching itself from his chest.

_It’s the greatest sound Louis has ever heard._

They lie there, savouring the sex-induced delirium until Louis’ legs start to cramp from kneeling and Harry’s come starts to dry in itchy flakes on his hand. Letting Harry slump down to the floor in a content heap, Louis pushes himself up off the floor reluctantly; head clearing as he moves to grab his pants, which are crumpled in a pile on the floor next to one of the fridges.

The familiar light of his phone display illuminates from under the crack.

“Oh fuck.”

Harry’s head jerks up from his position on the floor at the sound of Louis whine.

“What’s wrong?”

“Niall and Liam are going to be insufferable.”

Harry groans dropping his head back against the tiles.

“Is it too late for take backs?”

Louis throws his jeans at Harry’s face.

  


* * *

  


When Liam and Niall shove the display fridge back into its proper position the next morning, their smug faces almost make Louis wish he was still stuck back in the kitchen.

Almost.

“We should go on a date.” Harry says when they’ve left, fishing his duffle bag off the floor and raking his fingers through his hair; wincing as he pulls at a knot.

He’s fighting a lost cause.

“Really? Louis asks, slinking up to Harry and reaching up to help untangle his fingers from the mess. “And why is that?”

“Well.” Harry hums, tilting his head to the side and reaching up with his hand to caress the mottled red bruising on the side of his neck, fingers following the trail under the edge of his collar. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t really make a habit of blowing people in my kitchen if I don’t intend to see them again.”

Louis snorts. 

“And besides” Harry continues, hand slipping from Louis’ neck and settling on his hip. “We should probably talk properly about all of this.”

Louis smiles, leaning into the touch. “Probably a good idea.”

Harry leans down; pecking Louis’ lips with a light, content kiss, before pulling back. His eyes shine with mischief.

“I’m thinking ice-cream.” Harry says, smirk flickering across his face. “I’ll get a sundae and let you lick the chocolate sauce out of my dimples.”

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

“Harold,” Louis murmurs, stepping forward until he’s flush against Harry’s chest, pushing up onto his tiptoes so he can press his lips flush against Harry’s ear; making him shiver. “If I did that, we’d get arrested for indecent exposure.” 

His other hand slips under the back of Harry’s shirt, pressing against the two prominent indents at the base of his spine.

“Because I wasn’t talking about the dimples on your face.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> EDIT: Now that the authors have been revealed come chat to me on my [Tumblr](http://plaidcardigan.tumblr.com)


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